


Lazy Substance

by Transom (ThegoodshipRickyl)



Category: The Clash
Genre: 1970's blokey understanding of sexuality grey areas, Kissing, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Probably laughing at them trying to figure out this bs, Topper is offscreen doing whatever Keith Moon-lite activities that he does, which is to say pretty much none
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-29 22:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12640176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThegoodshipRickyl/pseuds/Transom
Summary: Joe and Paul have started kissing each other a lot, and Mick is confused.(Actually Mick's just salty cause Paul figured out how much Joe likes kissing before Mick did)





	Lazy Substance

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for this but I had a dream and I couldn't resist.

The first time it happened Mick could shrug it off. They were all handsy with each other, it was part of being in a band, like making each other tea or sleeping in the same bed in hotel rooms. Sometimes it was a touch, or a shoulder to lean on, and Mick couldn't count the times he had pressed a kiss to the top of Joe’s head, or Topper’s, just in passing. Paul preferred to bump shoulders, or slip a hand around his companion’s arm as they were walking and talking. Topper was more rough and tumble, playing at hitting and fighting, while his victim – usually Paul – tried to shoo him off. Joe was like a cat, wanting affection but playing aloof, until he got it and he would practically crumple against the person who gave it to him. 

 

Which is what he did at the end of their last gig, after he and Paul had both shrugged off their guitars and embraced tiredly. That alone would have been par for the course, until Mick saw him nuzzle into Paul's neck and kiss him gratefully. Paul smiled, too exhausted to look truly pleased as Joe pulled back for them to share a fond, dazed look. Mick felt his stomach flip when Paul pulled him back in so they were forehead to forehead, sharing breath, skin shining with sweat in what was left of the stage lights. Then Joe tilted his head back and they were kissing, gentle and slow, mouths open slightly. It was surprisingly casual, almost platonic, and didn't deepen, just ended with Joe folding back into his arms in a hug before letting go to hand his guitar off to a confused looking roadie. Paul followed suit with a light blush on his cheeks and Mick tore his eyes away, sharing a puzzled look with the roadie as he breezed by. 

 

Mick decided he would need a few beers and some proper dope before he could begin to deal with that image. And before he could ask either of them what was going on. 

 

*** 

 

The next time it happened Joe came to him first, leaning against him in that way that meant he wanted to be held without actually having to ask. Mick took him in, sliding a hand through the sweat-dampened curls at the back of his neck and kissing his forehead. He could almost hear him purr, so he kissed him again, this time at his temple, closing his eyes and letting himself get lost in it, hearing Joe make a small, contented noise. 

 

He was not prepared to hear a voice behind him, echoing off the concrete walls in the hallway. Mick’s head throbbed and he tried to sort it out from the rest of the backstage chatter filtering in from both ends of the hallway. 

 

“You got ‘im?” It was Paul's voice, concerned and low, and he was striding towards them decidedly. 

 

Mick nodded as he approached, loosening his hold on Joe so that Paul could take him. Joe went a little too eagerly for Mick’s taste, immediately forming himself to Paul's body and kissing him with a small breathless noise that Mick was not proud to admit made his stomach warm. They were touching foreheads again and Mick started to shove off, but Paul's hand wrapped around his wrist and stayed him. 

 

“Mick….” Joe’s voice was small, Paul's grip was tight, and Mick felt himself drawn down, his lips meeting Joe's for the first time, warm and wet with beer and tea. 

 

“Come to bed tonight?” Joe asked, voice shaky, and so raspy it sounded like it hurt. 

 

Mick blinked, flicked his eyes back to Paul's, inscrutable as they were. “I… I don't think that would be right,” he said lamely, taking a step back. 

 

Joe looked downcast but Paul just shrugged. He let go of Mick’s wrist, leaving it cold and roughened up where his fingers had been. 

 

“I'm starving,” Joe mumbled. “C’mon Mick. They must've scraped us up something.” 

 

“Yeah,” Mick breathed, trying to ignore that his lips still felt warm and that Joe was virtually swaying on his feet with exhaustion. 

 

Mick hoped that a bite of food would clear his head and that Joe would come back to life as soon as he saw all the fans that had blagged their way backstage like he always did. And maybe that would make him feel less guilty. 

 

*** 

 

The time that Mick had walked in on Paul and Joe lying in bed, tangled up in sheets and curled around each other, would never have bothered him before the kissing had started up. It had happened countless times before, after all, with many configurations of Mick and Joe, Paul and Topper, assorted girlfriends and mates and fans and strangers, all piling in when things got to be too much for anyone to go to bed by themselves. Sometimes it was practical; it could get cold and they never had quite enough to eat or wear, and when the comedown happened and the buzz wore off, it was sometimes scary to be alone. 

 

But this was more, this was a post- _kissing_ lying in bed together, and Mick could still see them as they had been the previous night, Paul leaning forward into his space and Joe grinning like a fool, until they had been drawn like magnets to each other, yielding happily. Mick didn't know what had happened after that, what steps came between that kiss and their current state, but he did know that it twinged a little to think about. So instead of thinking about it, he picked up an empty beer can off the floor and bounced it off of Paul's forehead, smirking mirthlessly when Paul groaned and shifted underneath the sheets. He had to be careful of Joe, who had most of his limbs draped across his body in some fashion or another. 

 

“Mick?” he groaned, groggy and annoyed. “What the fuck….” 

 

“I was sent to fetch you two,” Mick replied, voice flat. “It's what I deserve for being first out of bed. Which is never going to happen again, mind you.” 

 

Paul levelled an irritated look at him. “Why _are_ you up already?” 

 

Mick glared at him. He didn't even have the basic decency to act ashamed that Mick had caught them together. At least _blush_ , for God's sake. “I guess I'm just full of surprises,” he deadpanned. “Like _you_ two are.” 

 

Paul rolled his eyes. “Come off it.” He slid out from under the sheet and planted his feet in the dingy carpet. He yawned and stretched as Joe began to stir behind him, poking his messily curled head out to peek at Mick. 

 

“Hullo.” He pushed himself onto his elbows and made an attempt at his hair, lowering his head to run his fingers through it. “What have you decided to have a strop over this morning?” he mumbled. 

 

Mick sighed and kicked Paul's shoes over to him before sitting down on the bed. “It is _not_ a strop.” 

 

Joe scoffed, as beside him Paul rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Jonesy’s come over all jealous,” he laughed. Joe’s eyes widened. 

 

“Has he? Of what?” 

 

Suddenly Joe looked a bit shy. Mick took a deep breath. “I… just want to know what's going on, Joe. With you lot.” 

 

Joe _was_ blushing. “It's nothing,” he mumbled, getting out from under the sheet. He had fallen asleep in his trousers, but his shirt appeared to be lost amidst the covers. 

 

Mick found it for him, a white sleeve poking out from the sheets at the foot of the bed. He heard Joe grumble a thank you and turn his back to them to get dressed, and before he could think of anything to say, Joe was heading for the door, shoving his feet into his shoes and shrugging on a jacket, mumbling something about needing air. 

 

Paul again rubbed at his eyes. “Joe, don't, it's alright,” he pleaded tiredly. 

 

Mick felt another twinge of guilt as Joe lit a cigarette and closed the door hard on his way out. He steeled himself to face Paul. “What the fuck was _that_?” 

 

Paul gave him a withering look. “You're an _idiot_.” 

 

“Alright, whatever.” Mick threw his hands in the air. “I just want to know why two of _my fucking band_ have decided to start shagging, but yeah, I reckon that's a bit _much_ to ask for, huh?” 

 

“Not _shagging_ ,” Paul groaned. “Fuck’s sake, _relax_.” 

 

Mick stared at him. “ _Not_ shagging? You sure? ‘Cause that's sort of what it looks like from here.” 

 

“Fuck off, Mick,” Paul replied wearily. “Would you like to _actually_ know what it is?” 

 

“Yeah. I would.” Mick tried not to sound too demanding, or curious, or jealous, or any other emotion that would get him in trouble. With Paul or himself. 

 

“Alright.” Paul sighed heavily, dragging his hand through his hair. “Remember that night we got nicked? When they were all over him and I jumped on top trying to save him and got done too? And they threw us in that cell and all we could do was sort of hold each other, y’know?” 

 

Mick nodded. “I remember. You told me all that.” 

 

Paul studied his fingernails. “Well, I kissed him then, that was the first time. It just seemed like a good thing to do, I dunno…. Didn’t make us very popular with the guards, but it seemed to help _him_. Sort of helped me, too, I dunno, it's weird….” 

 

Mick thought about it, feeling suddenly tired. “So, what, it calms him down?” 

 

Paul shrugged. “S’pose. It's alright, I mean, I like kissing. He does too. It's nice, y'know?” 

 

“It has to be _kissing_ , though? When did a pat on the back become passé?” 

 

Paul snorted. “Quit being so bloody _British_.” He knocked his knee against Mick’s. “When I was a kid and we lived in Italy, remember, I used to see _everyone_ kiss. Men, women, OAPs…. They would hold hands sometimes, going down the street, like it was nothing. Joe says he remembers seeing that stuff happen in Mexico City, too.” 

 

Mick scoffed. “Pardon me, then, for being so bloody _provincial_.” 

 

Paul huffed a hoarse laugh. “You've kissed him too, Mick,” he reminded him gently. “Just the other night. I was there.” 

 

Mick squirmed. “Was that good, though? It felt… like I was an intruder.” 

 

“No, it _was_ good. He needs you, too. He gets low.” 

 

Mick wrapped an arm around his waist, holding himself tight. “So d’you…. It helps you too?” 

 

He shrugged. “I think we both like being close.” A light blush rose on his cheeks. “He's sort of like a brother, but a best friend too. I like having that. I think you do too.” 

 

“Yeah,” Mick sighed. “Yeah I s’pose.” He took a deep breath. “I get that. It's like being in a band, a together sort of thing.” He pushed his hair back from his temples, trying to flatten it on each side. “It's alright, then?” 

 

“If it is with him, yeah.” Paul dropped back onto the bed. “Always so _complicated_ with you, Mick.” 

 

“Piss off.” But there was no venom to it and Mick didn't move to get up. They would wait for Joe to come back together. That would be simple enough. 

 

*** 

 

It happened again after a show in France, a tough gig but one that would really make a difference if they wanted to be all that they wanted to be. They went offstage and Joe went to Mick first, taking a quick kiss before going to Paul and then going _back_ to Paul again and again, smiling into each kiss like it was just them. Paul's hand cupped his neck and pulled him in to bump their foreheads together, and he smiled, grateful and a bit shy. 

 

Mick touched his arm as he passed by, sharing a look with Paul. "You'll be alright." 

 

Joe pulled away, blushing and tired but happy. "Yeah." 

 

Mick started off, letting his fingertips linger on Joe's arm. He knew that they were like water, a lazy substance that always settled where it was meant to. 

 

"My room? Tonight?"


End file.
